Hindsight
by CharmingNotDarling
Summary: "Weller, please," she watches him, watches the war building behind his eyes. Can almost feel the anger and the relief battling for release. When he doesn't answer, just motions her out, she steps down and follows his lead. They take the elevator up and she can see in the glaring lights just how tired he is, how much her evening stroll has affected him. A tag for 106&108.. of sorts


A tag (of sorts) for 1x06 & 1x08 and a little twist on the Zapata/Carter deal... I'm glad the show took it where it went... but I needed to get this out...

Big thanks to apple-grass-and-smiles and takethisnight-wrapitaroundme over on tumblr for the beta read and the sanity... Of course I've messed with it since so the mistakes are mine... I hope you enjoy...

Jane waits in the quiet offered only by the deepest moments of the night. The creek of the floor boards under her feet and the hum of the over head light the only sounds she hears. She knows the team outside her door will switch off soon, knows the moment between their subtle sleep and an unsanctioned coffee run is her greatest chance to make it out unseen.

She's done it before. There's no fear of detection, no worry of recognition. Especially now; outfitted in her new and slightly trendy gear.

She can't believe she let them talk her into it. But she will admit, at the moment, and only to herself, that the shopping trip had been fun and these new clothes serve as a sweet bonus. She could walk passed the agents trying to stay awake out front in her new coat and fashionable footwear and they would never bat an eye. Besides, the riding boots serve as a great place to stash a weapon.

She takes the back basement stairs out into the courtyard as usual. Hugs the shadows as she slips out the garden gate and down the next block, around the second corner. She doesn't stop to consider destination or direction, she just moves.

She feels slightly guilty, after the look on Patterson's face the other night, but she didn't tell them how much she'd studied, mapped and planned before she'd ever left the house that first time. She'd downloaded subway and street maps, researched travel times and heavy traffic flow. She'd done her homework, knew her way around like a New York City native. No one had to show her how to use technology, so she went ahead and used it to her advantage.

As she crosses the street, ducks down the subway steps to catch the N&R train, she hopes the girls keep her secret, hopes they trust her abilities and her judgement, and maybe next time she'll work up the courage to ask them both to come along. She doesn't know how well that would work, how invested they could be. They have a loyalty to their job, to her protection, and to Weller.

If Weller ever found out... She doesn't let her mind go there, figures she could handle Mayfair if push came to shove, but Weller, she knows she'd flounder. He'd be beyond anger and disappointment. She knows his investment bleeds across too many spectrums, his involvement has never been anything but personal so there wouldn't be a professional way for them to even consider approaching this.

She shakes off the thought and slips into the last subway car just as the doors slide home. Grabs a seat toward the back and considers taking her hat off for the ride. She's pretty sure she doesn't look ridiculous in it, even Zapata had reassured her it wasn't too much, and she really does love it. She just not used to wearing so many layers.

She loves the coat though, it's probably her most favorite of their purchases, and God were there too many purchases. The three-quarter length military cut with its double breasted front and tab shoulders makes her feel like herself. The gold buttons seem a little fussy, but Zapata assures her it's very stylish. There's no lapels, just a stand up collar that holds her pretty scarf in place. The cross-body bag has next to nothing in it, it's just their for effect; a prop really. Every woman in the city has a handbag after all, and Patterson had insisted on it.

Jane slips off at the Whitehall Street Station. She likes the waterfront here. The pretty little carousel with its seats shaped like sea shells that glow and dim in creamy shades of pastel, the constant stream of people in and out of the ferry terminal and the blustery winter wind that comes barreling in off the water. She bets it's prettier still in the daylight, or on a summer night when the sun dips low and the sky goes dark and bright with early evening twilight.

She considers taking the ferry across, just to see the terminal on the other side. Bringing Patterson to mind again, she changes her direction; heads for the Starbucks across the street, thinks she'll take the ferry another night, when the airs not so frozen and winds not so thick. Once she's armed with something warm, she slips down a few blocks and starts the trek up the west side.

It's a clear night and the wind isn't half as bad once she comes in off the water. She picks up speed as she crosses the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel entrance, figures on wandering outside the 911 Memorial before calling it a night.

XXXX

With her wandering done, she takes the 1&9 train home. It's a little further of a walk, but the night is crisp and dry and bright, everything the inside of her safe house is not.

It all happens so fast.

She waits at the crosswalk three blocks up and two down from her place, watches the bulbs blink, the colors change. Just as the light turns, a black SUV slides along the curb in front of her, nearly clips her as she steps off the sidewalk.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks of Patterson again, of Weller and Mayfair. Thinks of their concern, and suddenly wishes it were her own. She's reaching for a weapon, weighing options when the drives side opens just to her left. She grips the knife, anticipating trouble when she comes face to face with Weller. His eyes are angry and guarded and hard when recognition crosses her face. He doesn't speak, just reaches for her wrist, knows she's going for the knife at her waist. He grips her only long enough to turn the blade away from his gut.

"Get in," he tells her when he lets her go, opens the back drivers side door. He doesn't touch her again, and the fact that he doesn't cuts her insides. She's not sure how to feel, who to trust or what to say.

"Get in," he says again as he backs away and gets in himself. This time she doesn't think or breathe or faultier. She slips in the back seat as he does the same up front, doors slamming in tandem with her heart.

"Two minutes out." He says as he navigates back out into traffic. He's turning down random streets, slowly working his way toward her safe house. There's someone on the other end of his ear piece and she's pretty sure she knows who it is. Reade is seated at his right. He turns his eyes on her for only a moment and she thinks he may have tried to show some compassion. Or maybe he was just smirking, as if he's known all along she would be worthy of this level of trouble.

She doesn't want to go back now. She doesn't want to deal with the fallout and the argument that will surely follow. Shes on the brink of panic when Weller slows down, nearly to a stop, the back passenger door opens and Zapata slips in.

"Did you find-?" she asks anxiously the moment before her eyes land on Jane in the back seat. "Jane, where have you been?" Her question comes with a direct stare and pleading eyes and for whatever reason Jane wants to instantly trust that Zapata is not the reason Weller came looking for her in the middle of the night.

She doesn't get the chance to answer, to ask or defend because Weller demands Zapata's attention. "Mission accomplished?" He asks her, eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel as he jumps back out on to the FDR and merges with the little traffic out this early in the morning.

Zapata nods in answer, her features going cold, her eyes on his for only a moment before she stares out the windshield as if she herself were driving.

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Jane asks softly from the backseat as she drags the black hat from her hair. No one acknowledges that she speaks. There's so much rushing through her mind, so many variables, too many conclusions, none of them ending in her favor.

They come to a halt and she recognizes the corner instantly. She'd been here only an hour or two before, ordered coffee, before taking West Street uptown. Zapata sets her eyes on Jane as she removes her seatbelt, offers a smile in the form of an apology or understanding or something a little like regret before she steps out with Reade. They cross the street and disappear down the subway stairs. Weller pulls away from the curb, heads back up town, and the bottom drops out from under her. Shes alone with Weller and his anger.

She doesn't bother to ask where they're going. She knows what silence sounds like, thank you very much. Considering the circumstances she understands where he's coming from. Knows how hard he works to keep her safe. Also knows he wouldn't understand the inky prison she's currently residing in. How her heart and mind and skin are all bound together every time they catch a break, find a lead, follow a clue.

She knows where they are when he pulls the truck into an underground parking structure. She's only been here once before but she'd know his building anywhere. He parks and pulls her door open, eyes still hot but a little less angry.

"Weller, please," she watches him, watches the war building behind his eyes. Can almost feel the anger and the relief battling for release. When he doesn't answer, just motions her out, she steps down and follows his lead. They take the elevator up and she can see in the glaring lights just how tired he is, how much her evening stroll has affected him.

"I'm sorry if I made you worry." She tells him softly as the doors open and he steps off ahead of her. He turns quickly, eyes hot and hard and angry again. He's got the doors propped open with both hands and he leans into the small space. She steps back instinctively.

"Worry, Jane? Is that what you think this is about? If I was worried I'd be pacing the floor in my apartment not roaming the streets looking for you at two in the morning. Worry is what I always do. Worry every night that someone will break in to that safe house and take you away, or worse." He shakes his head, drops his arms. "Never would I imagine that you'd sneak out."

She follows him down the hall, through the front door. There's no sign of Sarah or Sawyer when she shuts it behind them.

"How did you find out I'd left?" She knows it's not what she should be saying. Knows she should probably start off with an apology of sorts, something along the lines of how she started in the elevator, how she's sorry if she worried them and caused unnecessary trouble. She wont be sorry she went. She'll make him understand her if it's the last thing she does tonight. She just needs to know if Zapata gave her up. Doesn't want to incriminate her if she hasn't.

He throws his keys down, takes his jacket off before he answers. "Zapata." Is all he says and the color drains from her face. She stops mid removal of her coat and nearly falters on her feet. He steps toward her, takes her arm and her jacket as his brows knit together in concern. "You okay?" He asks as he pulls her deeper inside, steers her toward the couch. She nods as she sits.

"Zapata what?" She demands a little too forcefully.

"Carter's been sniffing around since the beginning. Looking for a weak link in our team, for a way to get to you. Turns out Zapata was that link."

Now it's her turn to look concerned. "I don't understand."

"He blackmailed her. Gave her money in exchange for information. When he approached her the first time she went to Mayfair, they gave him what he asked for. When he came back a second time, wouldn't back down, Zapata reached out to me." Jane lets out the breathe she didn't know she was holding, takes another, does the same, tries to keep her emotions in check. She thinks of their night at the bar, their day out; the shopping, the coat, her pretty knit hat.

"So the drinks, the shopping? It was all just a ploy to get close to me? To make me want to let her in? To open up?" She laughs and it's a broken, angry sound. "It's not like there's much I remember. I have nothing for him!"

"No Jane, it was made to look that way. We had to make sure we could protect you, that Carter believed the lie. He gave her a listening devise, she was supposed to get inside your safe house and install the devise without you knowing. We sent her in, to do just that, and found you were gone."

"Mayfair?" Jane ask as he sits beside her, he runs unsteady hands through his hair. He shakes his head in the negative.

"The plan was to get the devise set, get you out and change your location the next day. Feed him false information and throw him off. Mayfair doesn't even know that Carter had reached out to Zapata again. The four of us are the only ones that know" He doesn't have to tell her that he doesn't trust this with Mayfair. His eyes meet hers for the first time since they've entered the apartment. "When we didn't find you inside we split up. Zapata was pretty calm, she though you may have gone for a walk, taken the subway." He eyes her then, looking for something that she wont give up. "So Reade and I covered the three closest subway stops to the safe house." He reaches for the hat that's still in her hands, "We almost missed you in the new outfit." He almost smiles as he shifts and runs a finger along the lip of her boot where her knee rests an inch from his own.

She takes his hand, the one still resting on her knee, "Kurt, I'm really sorry I worried you, but I need you to understand I can handle myself." He makes a move to lean back, to pull away, find some space and she can't let him. She shifts in her seat, turns towards him, takes a stronger hold of his fingers in hers. "Don't shut down, please?" It's the plea that stops him. The tone of her voice and the look in her eyes. "I know I can't ask you to understand why, but I can ask you to trust me. Trust my instincts and my abilities. Trust that I wouldn't just step out the door and wander. Do you honestly think I wouldn't study? Wouldn't plan?" He doesn't answer and she knows its because she's right.

"Where did you go?" He asks after a moment. The question surprises her. She looks up and finds his eyes on her again. She wants to tell him it's not the first time, wants to give in to the guilt and the pressure she's putting on herself and tell him everything, but she's afraid of what he'll do if she does.

She takes a deep breathe and looks him straight in the face. "I took the subway to the ferry terminal. Walked the water front, got a coffee." She shrugs, tries to look contrite instead of thrilled. "Walked around some more, took the 1&9 train back up."

"I don't- why didn't you say something? Tell me, or one of us how you felt?"

"I needed to breath, Kurt. Please understand-" He rises then, pulls his hands free and takes her hope with him. "No, I don't understand. You know the risks by now, there's no question you understand the importance of keeping you safe. For the FBI, the greater good," he paces now, the way she pictured he would. The movements are so full of emotion and lacking control, they're so unlike him that they startle her.

"And for you," She says it softly as she stands. As if she's seeing and understanding him, what he feels, for the first time.

"You accused me once of being too invested, not objective enough." he tells her as he paces away and back again.

"And I apologized for that too. I told you that I didn't mean it, that I was upset when I said it. I told you that your investment was what anchored us to this, together. That your not staying objective is what makes this work." She's boarding on frantic, knows she lost desperate moments ago. She wants to tell him it's what makes her feel alive, makes her feel real.

"It seems I can't help it, no matter how I try." His voice is soft when he speaks this time.

"I don't want you to. I thought I would be able to make you see things from my perspective. Make you understand how hard this is for me. How deafening the silence can be. That I'm just as invested as you are and that I know how to take care of myself." She steps in front of him, steps in so close he has no choice but to meet her eyes. He can feel the regret and desperation rolling off of her in waves.

"I never once thought you'd feel like this, worry like this." She places her hand over her own heart, presses her palm against her sweater. "If I had known just how deep it would cut you I never would have left." He understands the gesture better than the words. Knows she wouldn't make the move if it weren't true.

"Jane I need you to understand something, something very simple," he steps in and consumes that last breadth of space between them. Takes her by the shoulders, fingers digging into her flesh. "I wont lose you again so there's nothing left to talk about." He lets go of her arms, steps away and out onto the terrace. The sliding glass door slams behind him and ironically enough she's left with the most consuming of quiet she's faced in days.

She wants to go to him, has to fight it and the urge to cry. She wishes he hadn't brought her here, he's so angry with her, her being here doesn't seem to be helping the matter. She sees the Johnny Walker bottle on the shelf, glasses lined up like soldiers at its side, she grabs the bottle and two cadets on impulse. Slips out the sliding glass door and waits for him to acknowledge her. His back is to her, elbows propped on the railing, eyes roaming the night. She sets the glasses down and fills them, caps the bottle, approaches his left elbow and says the words she knows will make him turn.

"I'm sorry I let you down," she takes a deep breath as his head whips around, face shadowed in the backdrop of industrial light, "I knew when I stepped out of that safe house, if you ever found out, we'd never be able to repair the damage. I knew you'd look at me like you are now, and see an enemy or a traitor. Maybe it's because you don't trust my ability to take care of myself, or maybe you don't trust my safety with anyone, including me." She timidly hands him the glass and he takes it. He watches her over the rim as he sips.

"I don't want you to look at me the way you look at Mayfair." She shakes her head to keep him quiet when he attempts to speak. "If I've betrayed your trust, if I've let you down, it's the greatest mistake I've made yet. I told myself I wouldn't apologize for going, for upsetting you, yes, but not for stealing the time, not for being able to take care of myself" She sips this time, knowing the liquid courage couldn't hurt at the moment, "But I can't not be sorry when I can see what it does to you." She doesn't have to tell him it was the look in his eyes that did her in. That the fear and devotion were enough to have her voice promises of any kind, if it would just take that look off his face.

He sips again, takes her glass and sets the pair down with the bottle before he speaks. "Part of me wants to laugh at this, give credit where it's due, tell you I'd have done the same thing. Tell you that I do trust your judgement and your ability to protect yourself."

She thinks of Tasha, offers up a small smile.

"The other part, the greater part," he says as he steps closer, eyes empty and hard like a frozen, glossy lake, "is the part that needs to protect you, to keep you safe, by any means necessary." He surprises them both when he takes her face in his hands. She watches as the glaciers in his eyes melt just a little. "Do I honestly have to tell you how much you mean to me?"

She can't answer, and is pretty sure he doesn't expect her to. She wants to touch him, doesn't know where to place her hands, how he'll react if she does. She doesn't know how much of what she wants to offer, he'll be willing to take.

In the end she cups his hands, shakes her head, "Tell me." She says and the words are like a prayer, equal parts promise and plea. They make his throat tight, make his eyes and mind slip shut. He can't even imagine where he would begin, what he would say, how she'd react if she knew.

"Jane," he says her name, it's all he can manager, drops his forehead to hers as he opens his eyes, and they're warm now; a placid, peaceful, fathomless blue that pull her in, take her under. When he doesn't speak, she lifts up onto her toes, slips a hand to the back of his neck.

"Show me." She whispers before she closes her eyes. She thinks she hears him say her name again, and then she doesn't hear anything but the roaring of her own blood in her ears. She feels the callused pad of his thumb trial her bottom lip, feels the air they share, warm and thrilling as it whispers across her skin. Then his mouth is on hers, and it's hot and heady and filled with more emotion than any spoken word could ever claim to posses.


End file.
